


Five Things Samantha Carter Learned from Jolinar of Malk’shur and Five Things Jack O’Neill Already Knew Which Were Merely Reinforced by his Blending with the Tok’ra Kanan

by sjhw_tolerance (mscorkill)



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-26
Updated: 2012-04-26
Packaged: 2017-11-04 08:37:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/391898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mscorkill/pseuds/sjhw_tolerance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Jack both reflect on their individual experiences with a Tok’ra symbiote and reach an identical conclusion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Things Samantha Carter Learned from Jolinar of Malk’shur and Five Things Jack O’Neill Already Knew Which Were Merely Reinforced by his Blending with the Tok’ra Kanan

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Bella, aka petite_stars. For the sjficathon.
> 
> Prompt: Include at least two of the following ideas/prompts - baking, Jolinar, civvies, insomnia, sprain, Ba'al, tie, punch, jello.
> 
> Originally posted April 2009.

**Part One: Five Things Samantha Carter Learned from Jolinar of Malk’shur**

**One**

“I thought you didn’t like Jell-O?” Daniel looks at her over his glasses, the butterscotch pudding on his spoon in danger of slipping off said spoon and onto his shirt.

“I don’t.” Sam replies emphatically, gesturing back at him with her spoon.

Daniel raises an expressive eyebrow. “So that’s why you’re eating it?”

Sam looks at her spoon and frowns. A jiggling square of crystal clear blue…Jell-O wiggles enticingly in the bowl of the spoon. She’s so shocked, she lets the spoon drop out of her hand where it proceeds to clatter alarmingly against the plate and tray, sending the blob of blue Jell-O flying across the table, where it lands with a plop in the midst of Teal’c’s mashed potatoes, floating in the brown gravy filled potato hollow, a pale blue tint mixing with the brown as it starts to melt. 

“Whoa!” O’Neill exclaims, “Careful there, Carter.”

Teal’c pauses in cutting one of the thick slices of roast beef on his plate, knife and fork in poised in mid-air, sending her a silky glare that has her glad he’s her friend. 

“Ah…sorry about that, Teal’c,” she says, recovering some of her composure but still uncertain as to why she’s just about to eat a food stuff she despises. Leaning across the table, she prepares to grab the offending bit of Jell-O with her spoon. “I’ll just—”

“That will not be necessary,” the Jaffa growls. With a quick flick of his knife, the hapless Jell-O cube flies through the air and lands back in the middle of her empty plate.

“Nice shot,” the Colonel says in apparent admiration. 

Daniel winces before once more looking at her and repeating, “So you don’t like Jell-O?”

Sam doesn’t know what to say, the evidence is on the table before her, a half-full parfait glass of blue Jell-O cubes and a rather odd berry-flavored aftertaste in her mouth. She nudges the gravy-stained cube on her plate. It still jiggles. “I don’t like it,” she mutters.

“Mind if I finish it off then?” O’Neill asks, and without waiting for an answer, lifts the parfait glass off her plate, digging into the remaining Jell-O cubes with his fork.

“Sure,” she says, a panicky-feeling starting to develop inside her. She stands up suddenly and grabs her tray. “I’ll see you guys later.” She hears Daniel’s voice clearly as she walks away.

“Something’s wrong with Sam.”

“What?” That’s O’Neill now. “Because she doesn’t like Jell-O?”

Dumping her tray at the clean-up window as fast as she can, Sam almost runs to the safety of her lab. By the time she gets there, her heart is pounding and she’s breathing heavily—and not all of it is because of her panicky flight from the dining hall. Daniel is right, something is wrong with her or rather, something isn’t right inside her, and hasn’t been right since Jolinar. 

Over the last few months since her… encounter, she’s gotten kind of used to the weird images that sometimes fill her dreams and the odd memories that come to her occasionally. She knows they’re remnants of the blending, and she’s determined to make use of the vague snippets of knowledge; she’s even gotten used to the queasy feeling in her stomach whenever she’s near Teal’c and his symbiote. 

But what she doesn’t like is doing something without any memory of it. This time it’s something innocuous, like choosing Jell-o instead of pudding for dessert. What if the next time she shoots the Colonel or Daniel, instead of the enemy? It seems far-fetched, but then four months ago, she would have said the same thing about her chances of being taken over by a Goa’uld. But then again, maybe she’s over-thinking things. It’s just Jell-O and she isn’t going to let any artificially sweetened and flavored gelatin turn *her* into a quivering blob.

Sam stays in her lab the rest of the afternoon, not because she’s avoiding her team-mates, she tells herself, but because she still has several experiments to prepare and pack-up before their scheduled twenty-one hundred mission departure that evening. However by the time the dinner hour rolls around, she knows she either has to make an appearance in the dining hall or have one, two or all three of her team mates come looking for an explanation.

Resigned to having to explain something she doesn’t understand herself, Sam makes her way to the dining hall. Daniel arrives from the opposite direction at the same time she does and he falls into line after her. “Get everything all packed up for PX3-902?” he asks, sliding his tray along next to hers.

“Yeah,” she says, peering at the bowl full of lettuce. It had been a lot fresher at lunch, so she selects a small bowl of the three-bean salad instead. “If the initial MALP survey is correct, the plant life on this planet rivals our own.”

“More trees,” O’Neill says, cutting in line in front of her.

She grins at her commanding officer’s irreverence. “Well yes, I suppose that’s one way of looking at it.”

Slowly sliding her tray along behind his, she watches as the server piles several healthy slices of ham and a heaping ladle full of scalloped potatoes on a plate and sets it on the Colonel’s tray. It looks good, but she doesn’t want to eat anything that heavy before going through the Stargate. “I’ll have the baked chicken,” she says to the server when it’s her turn. “And the broccoli.”

“Same for me,” Daniel instructs, right behind her.

The Colonel had pauses briefly in front of her, surveying the dessert offerings and she isn’t surprised when he picks the apple pie—she learned early on that he’s fairly traditional in his dessert selections. He picks up his tray then and heads towards the drink station and she slowly surveys the desserts available. Along with the apple pie there’s peach crumble, chocolate cake, strawberry cheesecake and the ever-present Jell-O, in a rainbow of colors.

The parfait glasses full of the red, yellow, orange and blue cubes gleam like brightly colored gems. Large white dollops of whipped cream are swirled lavishly on the top of each brilliant serving. Her mouth starts watering and before she even realizes it, she reaches for one of the tempting gelatin desserts. And then she stops, her hand wavering in mid-air when she realizes what she’s about to do.

“Sam?” Daniel asks, concern in his voice. “Are you okay?”

 _It’s now or never_ , she realizes. She can let Jolinar control her, go back to being helpless, locked inside the cell of her mind, or she can be the one in control. “Yeah, I am,” she says, reaching for one of the elegant-looking parfait glasses full of red Jell-O. She sets it on her tray and smiles at Daniel. “You know, I think I do like Jell-O after all.”

*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~*

**Two**

The first time Sam finds herself walking a little more slowly past the window displays of one of the well-known lingerie stores in the mall, she catches herself before she can go inside. A month or so later when she’s out looking for a birthday present for Cassie, she finds herself outside the very same store. There’s something about the artfully arranged window displays with their colorful and exotic looking lingerie that has her wondering how the glossy material would feel against her skin. 

Before common sense—and sensible white panties—can prevail, Sam walks slowly into the store, the seemingly endless array of exotic, fanciful and even tasteful bras, panties, camisoles and garments that she has no idea what they’re called, sing to her like a siren song. When the cheerful salesgirl asks if Sam if she needs help, instead of running screaming from the store, Sam replies without hesitation, “Yes.”

When Sam returns home several hours later, she spreads her bounty out on her bed. She still isn’t sure how she has come to be in the possession of six pairs of matching bras and panties. She picks up the pale pink bra, her fingers rubbing the satiny material. It’s gorgeous and had felt so good on her body. Setting it back down, she picks up the lilac bra, this one equally beautiful with its delicate lace insets. 

She’s never been one for fancy, or even matching, underwear. Maybe it’s because when you’re a teenager and your father takes you shopping for those kinds of garments, you tend to stick with the simple stuff. And then by the time she was shopping for her own under garments, she was a poor college student and then she was in the military. Somehow red satin tap pants don’t quite work with Class A’s; not that they’re any more practical with olive drab BDUs, but that doesn’t mean that she can’t wear them at other times. 

After a few more minutes of admiring her purchases, she carefully folds them up and puts them in her chest of drawers. Not in the drawer with the rest of her ‘everyday’ underwear, no silk and satin mixing in with the white and beige cotton, but tucked into the ‘special’ drawer, where she keeps the few nicer pieces of lingerie she has, for those special occasions that never seemed to materialize. 

With her impulse purchases safely tucked away, Sam grabs the bag containing the cotton-candy pink hoodie and matching tennis shoes she’s bought for Cassie and heads back out. She’ll have just enough time before the party to stop at the drugstore and buy a card and gift bag on her way to the Fraiser home. 

And it isn’t until several months later that she finally figures out her underwear paradox. 

***********

“That was a good job you did today, Sam. You’ve become quite the warrior.”

Sam looks quizzically at her father; he offers the words of praise with a sincerity that manages to catch her off guard—and she can’t help but wonder if the words of approval came from her father or Selmak, or maybe his wound is more serious than it looks. “Thanks, Dad,” she simply says, deciding not to question the unexpected praise. 

It’s been several long, pressure-filled days, first with ‘Charlie’ coming through the gate, learning of the Ree’tou threat and then the incursion by the Ree’tou commando team. In a way, its been exhilarating working with her father in a combat situation, the pride she feels at the way she’d acquitted herself—and saved her father’s life—diminished somewhat by the loss of Chou. She guesses there’s still part of her that needs to impress her father and yearns for his approval. That his praise is for her skill as a soldier in the heat of battle is just going to have to be one of those things.

“Do you really have to leave today?”

“I’m afraid so, Sam,” Jacob says, fastening his waist pack onto his belt. “Your Doctor Fraiser says that Charlie is getting weaker by the minute. The sooner we get a Tok’ra symbiote in him, the sooner he can be healed.”

“Maybe next time you can stay longer,” she adds wistfully, suddenly a young girl again.

“Next time, sweetheart,” Jacob replies easily. 

Sam summons up a smile and follows her father to the infirmary and Charlie.

**************

It feels good to be home, not that they’ve been confined to the base for all that long, but after all the drama of the last few days, she’s glad to be in her own space where she doesn’t have to share a bathroom and her private space is more than a locker. The first thing she does is strip off her clothes and head for the shower. She’s sure she can still smell the stench of cordite and burned flesh in her hair, not to mention the rather disquieting concept of exploded Ree’tou bits floating invisibly in their dimension.

Discarding her usual white bra and equally white panties on the floor on the way to the bathroom, she indulges in a sinfully long hot bath, complete with bubbles. And then she takes a shower and washes her hair, relishing the familiar scent of her shampoo and the complete and utter privacy. Drying off with one of her wonderful soft cotton towels, Sam wraps the larger one around her and a smaller one around her wet head and heads back into the bedroom. Hammond had let them leave as soon as her Dad and Charlie left, so it’s just early afternoon, which gives her the rest of the day to…well, just do whatever she wants. 

Dropping her towel on the bed, she pulls her underwear drawer open and frowns. How can she be out of underwear? Oh right, because she’d been going to do her laundry when she got home—four days ago. And then she remembers her special underwear drawer. The lilac bra and matching panties are on top, so she grabs them, quickly donning the satiny undergarments. It seems kind of a shame to put on her most comfortable and ragged pair of jeans and a sweatshirt over such lovely underwear, but she really does have laundry to do. Quickly towel drying her hair, she runs a quick comb through it and then starts gathering up the laundry.

With one load washing, Sam cautiously looks inside her refrigerator. Thank god nothing jumps out and attacks her, mostly because it’s empty of everything except a six-pack of Diet Coke and various condiments. _Not a problem,_ she decides briskly, grabbing the stack of take-out menus by her phone and flipping through them for the local pizza place. 

_“Why do you persist in bringing me these garments?”_

As soon as she hears the soft murmur in her brain, Sam drops the menus and slowly sinks down onto the floor before the dizziness hits her. The vertigo slams into her moments later. She closes her eyes against the kitchen cabinets that are spinning wildly around her and she lies down on the floor. Sam lies there, eyes closed, and waits. It’s been so long since she’s been hit by any memories from Jolinar, she thought maybe she’d experienced the last of them.

_“Because when I see them, I think of you.”_

_Lantash smiles, his blue eyes sparkling. Jolinar tries to glare at him, but the silky cloth is so soft and fine, the colors reminding Rosha of the sunsets on her home world; she can’t be mad at him._

_“It is not practical,” she replies, carefully refolding the beautiful dress and setting it aside. “And hardly suitable for a warrior.”_

_Lantash’s hand is warm against her cheek, his fingers trailing a delicate caress along her jaw. “You are also a woman, are you not?” His voice is low and seductive and Jolinar feels the warmth of his eyes and touch swirl through her._

_“For you, my love,” Jolinar murmurs, “only for you.”_

The memory fades when the two lovers kiss, for which Sam is grateful. As the image fades, so does the vertigo, and Sam slowly pushes herself upright. She calculates she’ll have just enough time to make it back to her bed before the migraine starts. 

Carefully making her way down the hall to her bedroom, she detours to the bathroom and swallows two of the painkillers Janet has given her for the headaches and then staggers back to the bed, shucking off her jeans and crawling under the covers. Sam forces herself to relax, her limbs getting heavy and she waits for the pain pills to do their magic. And then, in the final moments before she drifts off into a drug-induced sleep, Sam realizes with unexpected clarity why she bought the extravagant lingerie months earlier.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

**Three**

The makeshift headquarters of the ATF team bustles with activity; Seth’s followers have been moved to the location, a team of EMT’s are set up in one of the tents, busy checking them out and then guiding them to yet another tent, pending the arrival of the local social services people and Red Cross. Sam has been checked out herself and declared unharmed; and once she’s changed out of the trademark white robe and into her rescued BDU’s, she almost feels normal. 

In all the commotion, she’s lost track of her father, the last she saw him, he’d been hustled off to the EMT’s over his protests that he was fine, but when she looks back in the medical team’s tent, she only sees a sea of white-clad followers and no olive-drab generals. She makes her way to the command tent then, which is surprisingly empty of personnel, and that’s where she finds him, standing by the communications table and talking on the phone. Staying on the periphery, Sam waits; when he acknowledges her presence with a distracted nod, she sits down at one of the work tables.

From the one-sided conversation she overhears, it sounds like her Dad is talking to Hammond, probably filling him on the basic details so he can pass them along to the president. Shifting to a more comfortable position on the hard stool; she feels an unyielding bulge when her jacket bumps against the table. Slipping her hand into the pocket, she feels the cold metal and pulls out the hand device she used to kill Seth.

The golden finger pieces clatter against each other, the harsh glare from the naked light bulbs overhead briefly reflecting off the center crystal so that it almost looks like it’s glowing. It drops out of her hand and it lands with a thud on the table, the crystal glaring up at her. The noise must have caught her father’s attention, because he looks her way sharply and then he says goodbye to whoever is on the other end.

“Sam,” he says, walking over to the table. “How are you doing, kiddo?”

Sam can’t quite read the expression on his face, there’s concern but there’s also that familiar hint of impatience. She isn’t sure how she feels and sadly, she isn’t sure she knows how to tell her father what she does feel. “Dad…may I talk to Selmak?”

He doesn’t say anything right away and Sam thinks she sees just the briefest flash of pain in his eyes before he lowers his head. When he looks up again, his eyes glow. “You wish to speak with me, Samantha?”

“How do you live with it?”

“Live with what?” Selmak’s deep voice is puzzled.

“I could feel her…Jolinar…when I used the hand device on Seth. All of her hatred…the rage and the fear, all focused through me and powering the crystal.” Sam stands suddenly, taking a few steps before she stops and looks at the man who is and isn’t her father. “And I felt the same way. All I wanted to do was kill him. No…it was more than that; I wanted to make him suffer for everything he’d ever done over the millennia.” 

She looks right at her father and into Selmak’s understanding eyes, the words tumbling out. “I wanted him to suffer the same way the countless thousands he’s killed suffered. And I didn’t care at all that the host would die.”

There’s a rush of cool air and before Sam realizes they are no longer alone, she adds, her voice shaking, “I hated him with everything fiber of my being and I don’t know if it’s her or me.”

“Hated who?” Colonel O’Neill stands there, dressed once again in his BDU’s, a curious look on his face.

Sam can feel herself flush, but she answers steadily enough. “Seth.”

O’Neill’s face hardens, but his eyes are as understanding as Selmak’s when he says, “Welcome to the dark side, Carter.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

**Four**

No doubt, in a very weird, tortured and convoluted way, it will all make sense one day. _Of course_ , Sam decides dispiritedly, _maybe the reason it isn’t making any sense now is that she’s still feeling the affects of the drug-induced almost-coma._ Sighing, she sticks the spoon she’s holding into the open container of Chunky Monkey ice cream, plunking it all down on the coffee table, heedless of the of the potential ring it will make on the wood. Pulling the blanket closer around her and yanking it back over her newly exposed toes, Sam stares blankly at the empty fireplace. A shiver runs through her again and even though it’s the middle of summer, she wonders if she can find the energy to make a fire.

It’s too much effort…everything has seemed like too much effort since she’s gotten home. The hours since the President’s summit with High Chancellor Per’sus are a blur; the only thing that stands out clearly anymore is Martouf’s anguished plea for help; which is too reminiscent of her own panicked plea to the Colonel when she’d been informed of his ‘solution’. But somehow she made it through the intervening hours; she’s been the good solider and pushing aside her grief, accepting the congratulations of the President and the High Chancellor on behalf of a job well done.

A job well done…at what cost? Sam makes a soft snort of derision that almost collapses into a sob and she hugs the blanket tighter around her. Martouf’s body has been solemnly carried back through the Stargate to Vorash and after their final briefing, she escaped the mountain with barely a backwards glance, or a goodbye, to her team mates; her ability to conceal her emotions unraveling with each and every concerned look and glance from everyone—except O’Neill, who barely looks at her all.

She feels like her heart is breaking in two and she doesn’t know if it’s because of what has happened between herself and the Colonel or because of Martouf’s death. Her feelings for Martouf have always been a confused jumble of Jolinar and Rosha’s love for Martouf and Lantash. Combined with her own affection for Martouf, she long ago realized she can’t trust her feelings regarding him. And to add that on top of her already jumbled and confused emotions regarding her commanding officer, it’s a wonder she isn’t even more of a mess. 

The guilt she feels at ending Martouf’s life is tempered by the certainty that Jolinar would have done the same thing; Sam doesn’t always agree with the fatalistic viewpoint of the Tok’ra, but of one thing she is certain—Jolinar would not have hesitated for even a moment. And while Sam’s always maintained that Jolinar has never controlled her, she can’t help but wonder how much of what happened in that split second when Martouf called her name and before she fired the fatal second shot of the zat was Jolinar and how much was her.

Which leaves the other half of her breaking heart. For while she hasn’t killed Jack O’Neill, she has effectively buried the feelings they have for each other in that now sealed and locked room. But saying the words doesn’t make her love go away, if anything it only seems to burn stronger inside her and in her current frame of mind, she can’t help but wonder if she’ll spend the rest of her life with this hollow feeling inside her, where her love for Jack O’Neill struggles to be free. 

After the last painful session in the Za’tarc detector, the envy she occasionally feels for Jolinar’s extraordinary love for Martouf has resurfaced with a vengeance. She wants that kind of love for herself and yet she looked the Colonel right the eye and told him they could continue to ignore ‘it’; she’s turned her back on love for service and country. Jolinar would have laughed at such an attempt to control and direct love, and then she would have done exactly as she pleased and dared anyone to stop her. 

But she isn’t Jolinar and right now, she has a duty to her country that transcends her personal needs or desires.

One day though, Sam vows, as the dark hours of the night slowly creep towards the dawn of a new day, she’ll take a lesson from Jolinar’s book and seize the love that’s offered her and laugh at those who try to stop her.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Five

_“Major Carter, have you talked with O’Neill?”_

_Sam stops mid-crunch and looks up at Teal’c. “About what?” she asks, finishing the curl and then sitting up on the bench._

_“He is wounded.”_

_Sam’s eyes widen and she looks around a bit wildly for the man in question. Last she knew, Teal’c and the Colonel had been beating up the punching bags._

_“He is not here,” Teal’c comments smoothly._

_She knows what Teal’c wants her to do and she really isn’t sure she’s the right person to talk to the Colonel. “I don’t know, Teal’c,” she says carefully. “Colonel O’Neill has his own way of dealing with things.” As excuses go, it’s lame, but Teal’c has caught her completely off guard._

_“Samantha.”_

_Teal’c’s unaccustomed use of her first name has Sam’s head snapping towards him. She doesn’t think she’s ever seen the Jaffa look more serious._

_“You, more than anyone else, understand what he has gone through with Kanan. O’Neill requires your assistance, whether he realizes it or not.”_

It’s curious how things happen. Sam hasn’t thought about Jolinar in months, at least until the Colonel became ill and a Tok’ra symbiote had seemed the only way to save him. The always brief and random flashes of memories have become even more infrequent and after their return from Netu, have almost stopped completely. In some ways, it’s been a reprieve, especially after the vividly painful memories of Jolinar’s captivity and the extreme measures she’d used to escape. Just the thought of Bynaar makes Sam physically ill and she’s relieved when the memories vanished as mysteriously as they’d appeared

So it’s with thoughts of Jolinar and her unexpected conversation with Teal’c playing through her mind that Sam stands on Jack O’Neill’s front porch the next day, finger poised over the doorbell. Since it will be several days before they receive the necessary intel from the Tok’ra for their undercover operation, Hammond has given them the time off—which gives her ample time and opportunity to follow through on Teal’c’s suggestion. She understands why Teal’c has made the unusual request, she just isn’t sure why she’s actually following through with it, unless it’s the prospect of that whole Jaffa revenge thing if she doesn’t.

But it’s more than that and she knows it. Whether she wants to acknowledge it or not, there really is only one reason that would cause her to seek out Jack O’Neill at his home for a heart-to-heart conversation on how to cope in the aftermath of a traumatic Tok’ra symbiote blending. That the reason is something they have agreed to avoid…along with anything else remotely personal—doesn’t seem to matter. Even though ‘personal’ means lowering the barriers, acknowledging that there is something…more between them. 

Especially the something she wants to forget, the something that would motivate him to do the one thing he would never do, just because she asked.

Sam consoles herself that he will probably just snap her head off again, like he did when she wanted to talk about Daniel’s death. Yet here she is…ringing his doorbell on a warm afternoon in the early fall.

Taking a deep breath, she waits while the distant sound of the doorbell chimes through the house. It isn’t long before she hears the low thud of footsteps and the door swings open. He’s wearing khakis and dark green shirt over a black T-shirt; the look of mild annoyance on his face quickly transforming into one of thinly-veiled suspicion when he sees her. 

“Carter,” he drawls through the shield of the screen door. “This is a…surprise.”

“May I come in?” The unspoken ‘sir’ seems to hang in the air between them, but she has come here as a friend, not a subordinate. For a moment she thinks he’s going to actually say no and she steels herself for the rejection, but then he steps back and opens the door.

“Sure, come on in.”

It’s been awhile since she’s been to his house and she looks around curiously, following him into the living room. He gestures for her to sit down and she deliberately chooses a spot on the sofa. The leather is soft and warm, the whole room seems comfortable and inviting; she glances at Jack, his cool and unyielding look on his face a stark contrast to the rustic comfort of his home. 

“I’m going to get a beer,” he says shortly. “You want one?”

“Sure,” she replies, setting her purse down and settling back on the sofa. His eyes narrow and she smiles; now that she’s here, she isn’t going to let him rattle her. She lets out a deep breath when he disappears into the dining room and waits patiently, he isn’t gone long, returning moments later with two bottles of Guinness. It isn’t her favorite beer, but she really doesn’t plan on drinking much of it. He twists off the cap of one and hands it to her before sitting down on the opposite end of the sofa.

“So, Carter,” he says, “what brings you out on this fine day?”

Sam can’t help but hear the slight emphasis on her name, as if he’s reminding both of them of her position in his life. As long as she’s ‘Carter’, she can’t get close to him, she’s held in place by rules and regulations. And before everything that happened with his illness and Kanan, she would have let him get away with it. But not this time…somewhere between Teal’c’s unusual request and this instant, their relationship has changed. 

No, that isn’t exactly true, it changed long before this moment. She had been willing to do whatever it took to keep him from dying, and she’d do it all over again in a heartbeat, as long as it meant he would live. Because if he died, so would she. 

And in one blinding flash of insight while sitting on the sofa in Jack O’Neill’s house, Sam Carter suddenly gets it. All of the random bits and pieces of Jolinar’s memories suddenly meld together to form one unassailable truth and she finally understands why Jolinar acted as she did on Netu. Passion for the Tok’ra cause burned deep within Jolinar but even stronger than that was her passion for her mate. For even as important as her mission had been, it would have meant nothing if she couldn’t be with the man she loved. 

It’s almost like Sam is waking from a long sleep; she looks at the man sitting next to her and it’s as if she’s seeing him for the first time in a very long time. Sam feels remarkably calm when she sets her beer down on the nearby end-table and scoots closer to him. His eyebrows shoot up when she takes the bottle of Guinness out of his hand and sets it aside, the mildly disinterested look he’s adopted quickly vanishes and is replaced with a look that borders on sheer terror when she takes hold of his now free hand with both of hers. 

“Carter?” His hand twitches in hers, but he makes no move to withdraw it.

Sam smiles tenderly; he is really so predictable sometimes. “Jack,” she says, ignoring the way his eyebrows almost disappear into his hairline. “I know what you’re going through.”

“Do you know?” he rumbles, tugging his hand free. “And just what exactly am I going through?”

He really is predictable. “The same thing I went through when Jolinar died in me.” His mouth opens and she quickly continues before he can say anything. “All I’m saying is that I understand and I’m here, if you need me.”

“If you understand so well, Carter,” he replies, “then you wouldn’t have asked me to take a damn snake to begin with.”

His harsh accusation is like a slap in the face, but he’s right and he deserves an honest answer. Jolinar had concealed her actions on Netu from Martouf in order to protect him and while the similarities between her and Jolinar are vague and nebulous, Sam Carter is through hiding.

“I couldn’t let you die.”

“I don’t think that’s your decision to make, Carter.”

Sam wants to ask him, ‘Then why did you agree?’ but she doesn’t want to get into a never-ending word game with him. And since it seems he isn’t going to make it easy for her, she decides to make it easy for him. 

“I love you.” The world doesn’t come to a screeching halt when she finally admits it; though she isn’t surprised when he goes completely still at her confession, his eyes darkening dangerously. “If there was any chance that you could be cured by blending with a symbiote, I had to take it, even if you never forgave me or hated me for it. I knew you wouldn’t refuse me if I asked.” 

His expression has become carefully blank and her lips curve in a sad smile. “So if you’re going to hate me for what I did, hate me because I used your feelings for me to manipulate you into taking the symbiote, but not because I couldn’t let you die.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

**Part Two: Five Things Jack O’Neill Already Knew Which Were Merely Reinforced by his Blending with the Tok’ra Kanan**

**One**

He staggers when the staff weapon blast catches him in the shoulder, the pain searing through him, and he falls to the ground. The wound isn’t fatal, but the pain is terrible; however beyond the pain is the knowledge that he can’t give up, too much depends on him...she’s depending on him. He can barely see the DHD looming in front of him, but still he tries to crawl towards it. If he can just reach it…. 

But before he can drag himself forward through the mud and dirt, he suddenly retches as an even worse pain explodes in the back of his head. Coughing and choking, he hears the shouts and cries of the Jaffa chasing him draw closer and he gags on the symbiote as it breaches the soft tissue at the back of this throat and slides out of his mouth. 

Kanan scurries away and Jack O’Neill’s last coherent thought before he collapses unconscious in the mud is the second verse of an old refrain. _“Never, ever trust a Goa’uld—even one disguised as a Tok’ra”._

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**Two**

When Jack first sees the woman, sitting so gracefully at the brink of his cell, he thinks for one wild moment it’s Sam, but then his vision clears and in the brief instant before she disappears, he knows it isn’t Sam. It’s the other blonde…. He can’t remember where he knows her from, the vague memory lurking just beyond his grasp, but there is one thing he does remember without any difficulty— _blondes are trouble._

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 **Three**

Except for those dark days after his son’s death, Jack O’Neill has always been a firm believer in life. It’s the reason he fights the Goa’uld and anyone else who believes that an individual life is so worthless as to be expendable. But every time he wakes up in the sarcophagus, his bloodied and torn flesh healed, his heart once more beating, he realizes with a dull certainty that there were some things worse than death.

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**Four**

Jack has a lot of time to think, in between the hours that he’s being tortured and the hours in the sarcophagus that he can’t remember. For as much as he believes in life, he also knows what he would die for—his country…his family…the woman he loves. He wants to hate Kanan for bringing him to this god-forsaken place and then deserting him, and he does…but he also understands the fatal truth that has determined both of their fates. Some women are worth dying for.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

**Five**

After everything that has happened, the last person Jack O’Neill expects to see uninvited on his doorstep is Sam. And the last thing he expects is to invite her in. There are some aspects of his life that he keeps carefully compartmentalized, and Samantha Carter is one of them. Major Carter is another story, but Major Carter hasn’t turned up at his house wearing snug jeans and what is probably a fairly modest v-neck pale blue sweater that still manages to cling to her body in all the right places. 

So he plays the polite host, even though he knows what she wants before she even opens her mouth. Teal’c isn’t a great one for subtleties and Jack has been warned that this moment would arrive. And he’s prepared, he’s no stranger to the ‘worst case scenario’ and Carter, in his house wanting to talk, is at the top of that list. But in spite of all of his supposed planning, she still manages to ambush him. 

Jack barely hears anything she says after, _“I love you”_. He’d known it, of course. But after almost two years, there couldn’t help but be times when he wonders if she still feels the same way or how long it will be before she finally gives up and moves on. He wouldn’t blame her; there are no doubt greater catches out there in the world than him. So if she has rendered him speechless by her confession, it isn’t his fault.

He just stares at her with what he suspects is an incredibly blank expression. She’s beautiful, her blue eyes all earnest and understanding, her lips curved in a sad smile. And then he actually hears what she’s saying.

“So if you’re going to hate me for what I did, hate me because I used your feelings for me to manipulate you into taking the symbiote, but not because I couldn’t let you die.”

Jack’s even more stunned by this admission than he was by her declaration of love. He doesn’t hate her, he could never hate her. “Wait,” he blurts out, “I don’t hate you.” He reaches for her arm when she shifts on the sofa, suddenly afraid that she’s going to leave. She looks at him with question in her clear blue eyes. “Is that it?” he challenges, when she doesn’t reply. “You’re just going to leave?”

“What do you want me to do, Jack?”

Her voice is mild and he thinks he detects that faint hint of amusement she sometimes uses with him, but he really doesn’t care—even though she’s neatly tossed the ball back into his lap. He let’s his fingers trail lightly down her arm until their fingers are tangled together. “You could stay.”

“And what about after I leave?”

They’ve tried it her way, maybe it’s time to try it his way. “Some rules are meant to be broken,” he tells her. He supposes he could add that the events of the last month have influenced him, that his experiences with Kanan, and even Ba’al, have reinforced their impermanence and fragile existence in this universe. But he doesn’t. For now, it’s enough that she’s going to give him yet another chance at life.

“Then I’ll stay,” she murmurs, her voice soft and her eyes inviting him closer. 

It’s all the confirmation Jack needs, with a light tug on their still entwined hands, he pulls her into his arms. She melts against him, her soft breasts pressing into his chest and he wraps one arm around her back, the other sliding into her hair to hold her in place for his hungry mouth. Not that he needs to keep her in place, her arms are wrapped tightly around him, her lips parting eagerly when he nips lightly at her lower lip. Jack deepens the kiss, his tongue sweeping into her mouth, the sweet taste of her threatening to overwhelm his rapidly diminishing self-control.

While Jack wants nothing more than to sink completely into her, the years of caution aren’t so easily swept away; and even though she has said she would stay, he doesn’t want there to be any confusion. 

“Sam,” he murmurs, dragging his mouth away from hers. He pulls back slightly so he can see her, a move he immediately regrets. Her blue eyes are hazy with desire, her lips red and parted, waiting for his kisses. 

“Jack?” Her soft voice is husky and he shivers when she lightly rakes her nails through the short hairs at his nape.

He’s pretty sure he has her answer, but he asks anyway. “Staying doesn’t mean…you know,” he stammers. “We can talk or whatever.” He cringes slightly, _could he have said anything lamer?_

Sam lips curve in a tender smile, her eyes sparkling. “Talk? I appreciate the offer, I really do. And I’m sure I’ll take you up on it someday.” His eyes narrow; she’s teasing him now. “But right now, I think it’s time for…you know.”

Jack immediately grabs her hand and stands, pulling Sam along behind him, up the stairs out of the living and down the hall to his bedroom. The sofa in his living room isn’t quite the place for what they both obviously have in mind; they’ve both waited too long to settle for anything less than perfect this first time.

His bedroom is dim and cool, the late afternoon sun creeping in through the blinds, dappling across the carpet and the bed. Jack draws her over to the bed, pulling her down with him onto the bedspread. He hears her shoes hit the floor with a thud and he rolls until he’s leaning over her. His hand trembles against the soft skin of her belly when he slides it beneath her sweater. She draws his head down to her, their lips meeting as he continues to stroke her soft skin, gradually working the sweater higher until it bunches up beneath her arms.

He smiles against her lips before lifting his head and looking at her. He never figured Carter for a fancy bra kind of woman, running his fingers along the delicate lace edging of her pale blue bra she has on, the silky material not even half as soft as her skin. He slides his hand under the edge of one of the cups, his thumb brushing idly over her cloth covered nipple. “Blue lace, Carter?”

“And matching panties,” she counters, slightly breathless.

Jack’s hands go immediately to the fastening of her jeans, popping the button and pulling down the zipper, revealing matching blue satin. He smoothes his hand over the slick satin, sliding down under the rougher denim and cupping her through her already damp panties. Sam moans softly, her hips arching towards him. A low groan rumbles up from deep in Jack’s chest and he immediately kneels beside her, stripping her jeans and pale blue panties off. 

Her sweater and delicate bra rapidly follow her jeans to the floor; their hands meeting at the neckline of his shirt. Jack’s breath hisses in sharply when she abandons the shirt, her nimble fingers making quick work of the fastenings of his khakis. Jack quickly jerks his shirt and T-shirt off over his head, unable to contain his moan of pleasure when she imitates his earlier action and slides her hand inside his pants, stroking his hardening flesh through the soft cotton of his boxers.

“Sam,” he growls, grabbing her wrist. Her low chuckle sends desire surging through him when she slowly removes her hand, her nails dragging provocatively along his penis. Ignoring the continued distraction of Sam’s delicate caresses across his abdomen and chest, Jack rapidly shucks off his khakis and boxers, immediately settling his naked body over hers. He feels almost lightheaded from the incredible feeling of her body against his, her breasts soft against his chest, her belly so smooth against his throbbing penis, her legs cradling his hips.

She is everything he’s ever wanted and the reality of having her in his arms and in his bed becomes almost too intense; a panicky, helpless feeling starts to well up inside of him. This is what he wants, it’s what she wants, yet he feels like he’s spinning out of control and it hits him hard, coming so soon after the disaster that had been Kanan. He starts shaking…he’s been broken and put back together so many times, it’s a wonder there’s anything left of him. She deserves so much more than he can ever give her….

“Jack.” Sam’s voice is soft but contains a note of steel that reaches through the doubts spinning crazily in his head. Jack focuses on her like a drowning man clinging to a life preserver; her eyes are clear and steady, the love and tenderness on her face his salvation. 

“It’s okay,” she whispers, lightly caressing his cheek. “Whatever happens, we’re in this together.”

“Sam,” he groans, hardly knowing what to say and not at all surprised that she can sense the conflict in him. That she would trust him…love him…through everything is more than any woman has ever done before. “God…Sam…” he murmurs, gazing down at her. “You deserve—”

Two fingers are pressed to his lips, silencing him. “Don’t say it,” she says fiercely. “We’ve tried to ignore it, deny what we want. But not anymore.” Her fingers delicately trace his lips, stroking gently along his check. “You’re the only one I want…the one I love.”

Jack can’t deny the honesty he sees in her eyes or the sincerity of her simple words…and it’s enough, god, its way more than enough. He isn’t big on metaphor, but when he was a prisoner at Ba’al’s fortress, he had a vague memory of insisting to Daniel that there was always a way out, he just hadn’t realized at the time that he was being held captive by more than just mortar and brick and that Sam would be his way out of an even more insidious prison. 

He looks into the clear blue depths of her eyes, feeling the words choke up inside of him. There is no way he can even begin to tell her everything he’s feeling, so he shows her instead. His mouth descends to hers, demanding and pleading for a response, as he drags her with him into the swirling maelstrom of love, passion and desire, heedless of the danger. And she eagerly responds, her hands touching and caressing him in return, urging him to complete their union and bind them together on the most basic of levels.

This time, when Jack feels his emotions start to careen out of control, he doesn’t fight it, but lets it sweep through him, safe in Sam’s arms. He can’t get enough of touching her…kissing her, but soon they both need more and Jack settles firmly between her thighs. Bracing himself over her on one elbow, Jack runs his other hand in a sweeping caress down her side to her hip, urging her legs up further around him. Sam shifts and he moves with her, groaning as his rigid length slides through her slick folds. 

Sam’s eyes are hazy with passion, her hands clutching at his shoulders as he slowly slides into her. She melts around him and Jack moans, thrusting deep. Sam cries out softly with pleasure and Jack calls on the tattered remnants of his self-control, moving against her. Sam moves with him, both of them slipping easily into a slow and steady rhythm, the incredible drag and pull of her internal muscles luring him even deeper. 

Ignoring the fire racing through his blood, Jack is determined that Sam find as much pleasure in his arms as he knows awaits him in hers. “Sam,” he pleads, shifting slightly, slipping his hand down across her belly to where they’re joined. “Help me.” 

Her slim hand closes over his, guiding him. He keeps his eyes locked with hers, totally intent on absorbing every nuance of expression crossing her face. Over the years he’s seen a multitude of different emotions on Sam’s face—happiness, pain, sorrow, grief. But he’s only had the briefest glimpses of love, passion or desire and he craves them now, with every fiber of his being. Awkwardly at first, but then with increasing confidence, Jack caresses her, guided by her gentle touch and the building pleasure he can see growing in her eyes. 

With his own desire driving him relentlessly onward, Jack continues his insistent caresses, even when it seems too much for her and she gasps his name, her breath hitching on a sob when he sees and feels her orgasm overtake her. She cries out his name again, her body shuddering beneath him and around him, her eyes startled at first and then closing helplessly while rapture pours through her. And he watches it all, his caresses slowing and gentling until her body stops trembling beneath his and her eyes lazily flutter open.

“Jack,” she murmurs softly, her eyes brimming with love. One slim hand moves along his shoulder to his nape and when she presses gently, he lowers his head. Fierce desire still courses through his veins, but he still finds the strength to kiss her tenderly until she shifts, tightening her arms and legs around him. With a low groan, Jack surrenders to the pull of desire and once more begins thrusting heavily into her. 

Passion flares, white hot, burning inside him; his muscles bunching and his skin slick with sweat, he pounds into her, craving the same sweet release. And Sam moves with him, encourages him with her caresses and softly murmured words of love until he’s overwhelmed and can do nothing more than surrender. Thrusting deeply, he grinds his hips into hers; his orgasm tearing through him, leaving him weak and shattered in her embrace. 

With every muscle in his body trembling, Jack collapses on Sam’s soft body, burying his face in her throat. Her hands move soothingly over his back and shoulders, slowly bringing him back to reality. Nestling deeper into her embrace, Jack nuzzles her neck, sighing with contentment when her fingers trail lightly through his hair. Moments like this are something he wouldn’t mind getting used to….

Jack lifts his head and looks down at Sam, intense satisfaction running through him when she smiles lazily up at him. “What?” she asks, when he doesn’t say anything.

“Maybe I do have something in common with Kanan after all.” 

Sam raises an eyebrow, giving him a questioning look. “Really…and what would that be?”

Jack grins, he’s feeling happy and content, so he can be generous. “He was in love with a blonde that caused him nothing but trouble.”

She looks indignant for a moment, but then she smiles and Jack doesn’t think he’s ever seen her look more beautiful. “Love?” she asks softly.

“Yep,” he agrees cheerfully, before lowering his head and kissing her. “And nothing but trouble.”

**The End**


End file.
